


These Foolish Things, Remind Me of You

by themasterplanner



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Use, Hallucinations, M/M, Masturbation, Pole Dancing, Strippers & Strip Clubs, tripping balls while draining them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 22:22:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themasterplanner/pseuds/themasterplanner
Summary: In which Edward visits a strip club to forget his troubles, but his troubles haven’t forgotten him.





	These Foolish Things, Remind Me of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MillicentCordelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillicentCordelia/gifts).



> Based on events in Gotham s03ep15. The song quoted is by Bryan Ferry.

***   
__   
“Oh, will you never let me be?   
  
Oh, will you never set me free?   
  
The ties that bound us   
  
Are still around us   
  
There’s no escape that I can see   
  
And still those little things remain   
  
That bring me happiness or pain…”   
  
***

Edward Nygma sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and bouncing one long leg. Watching the dancers in their sequins and feathers parade across the stage did nothing to improve his mood, but leaving now would be an insult to the increasingly volatile Queen of Gotham, with likely fatal results.  
  
Two days earlier, an “invitation” had been extended to meet Barbara at The Sirens. The invitation was, needless to say, polite but mandatory.  
  
“I held up my end of the bargain,” he’d said. “I thought we made it clear that after Penguin was out, we’d go our separate ways.”  
  
“Oh, this has nothing to do with business.” Barbara shot an apologetic look towards her lover. “Well, actually, Tabby and I thought you could use some R&R.”  
  
“… What?”  
  
Tabitha, by contrast, was as blunt as ever. “You’re bringing the mood down, Nygma.”  
  
“So,” Barbara chirped, “we know just the place to bring back your _joie de vivre_! What with the tragic loss of your librarian and all.”

***  
  
The establishment had been most welcoming to the honored guest of Misses Kean and Galavan, drinks were plentiful and on the house, the seats were the most well placed to enjoy an unobstructed view of the stage, and yet Edward felt nothing at all. He was numb, crashing hard on the frankly excessive amounts of speed he’d been taking just to keep up with the unending daily duties of running a city the size of Gotham – the legal side of it, anyway. As for the rest, Barbara and Tabitha had already carved that up. He reached for the inside pocket of his shimmering emerald jacket with shaking fingers, and furtively pulled out an elegant gold pillbox. He didn’t even bother swallowing the pills with water – just broke the capsule with his teeth, crunching the contents briefly before swallowing. He knew his neurotransmitters were adapting to the drugs; it took an increasingly higher dosage just to be effective. Just to be able to see –   
  
_“Well, this place has certainly gone downhill.”_ The voice was unmistakable – as was the smell of salt water.   
  
“Now is not the time to be funny, Oswald,” Edward gritted out as the apparition of his friend nonchalantly picked seaweed off his water-logged suit. He stole a sideways glance, but Barbara and Tabitha were too preoccupied in their own conversation, and Butch too preoccupied with ogling the dancers, to notice him. “And you’re dripping all over the floor.”   
  
Oswald wrinkled his nose. _“This carpet is unbelievably tacky anyway, my dripping would no doubt improve it. So, for what reason am I here this time?”_   
  
“Because I’m stuck here in a strip club with that dolt, Gilzean. Figured you would at least be better company.”   
  
Oswald rolled his eyes. _“Can’t say I can properly appreciate the entertainment. For all your vaunted powers of observation, you seemed to have missed the part where I was gay.”_   
  
“Well, you didn’t exactly shout it from the rooftops.”   
  
_ “I would have thought my confession of love would have made that obvious.” _   
  
“The one you made to save your own skin, just before I shot you? Spare me.”   
  
Edward didn’t want to think about that. He tried to slap himself awake and regain control, but the drug that surged in his bloodstream had a mind of its own, a mind with an agenda that lined up perfectly with all of Edward’s repressed insecurities and desires.   
  
Oswald seemed undeterred. _“You of all people should know that the thing with hallucinations is that they only reflect your own subconscious mind. That is, what you’re trying your hardest_ not _to see.”_   
  
“... Oh crud.”   
  
What he saw next almost made him wish for the drowned corpse. Oswald had replaced the lead dancer on the stage, wearing nothing but a purple top hat, shirt cuffs, a matching bow tie, and a purple-sequined pair of hot pants that hugged his perfectly round bottom with much enthusiasm.   
  
_“Do you like it?”_ He twirled around the pole, pouting and casually striking a pose that showed off his lithe body perfectly.   
  
Had Oswald always been this gorgeous?   
  
“ _No._ Stop this ridiculousness!”   
  
Oswald only gave him a sly smirk. _“That would be more convincing, if I technically wasn’t dead, for one, and two, a hallucination generated from your own subconscious mind.”_ _   
_   
He knew where this particular vision had come from. Oswald had told him about this part of his past, this secret that only one other knew. He’d once worked in a club like this to support his mother. He was quite the little con artist; he’d target certain “VIP” patrons, all fluttering long lashes and big ocean-blue eyes, pouty lips dripping honeyed words and poisoned flattery until they were completely wrapped around his finger, and they’d give him anything he wanted. Which was usually money -- a lot of it. His last sucker had been one of Fish Mooney’s underbosses. She didn’t take too kindly to one of her top lieutenants being blackmailed, but she’d offered him a job and a promise to teach him a thing or two… and the rest, as they say, was history. Why had he allowed those two to bring him here?   
  
Edward would never admit it, but while he had eaten little and slept less, and clearly looked it, this Oswald looked like he was in the best physical shape of his life. His petite body was tight and lean, unmarred by the countless beatings and bullets he’d suffered in his rise to the top of Gotham’s crime operations -- and his falls from it. _Magnificent. Ay, every inch a king._   
  
“I didn’t bring you here to see you dance. And I certainly didn’t bring you here so you could try to … _serenade_ me again.”   
  
Oswald wrapped his legs around the pole and arched his back, and spun his body around it with a grace that Edward would never have thought possible from him. _“What did you bring me here for, then? To reassure your troubled conscience? To soothe your ruffled feathers?”_   
  
The hallucination slid down from the pole and strutted over to Edward’s seat. _“To tell you I forgive you for shooting me in the stomach, taking my empire, and desecrating my father’s remains?”_ Even his voice was a sultry croon, making the accusations sound like an erotic invitation. He wiggled his narrow hips, circling the chair while making sure to stay just inches out of reach, taunting Edward, tempting him to try to touch that lovely soft porcelain skin, those broad shoulders and incredible legs. His thighs looked thick and powerful, the quadriceps swollen enough to lend them bold curves, and his gluteal muscles looked full and hard and awfully inviting in those tight shorts.    
  
When Edward could bear no more, Oswald straddled him and draped a pale arm over Ed’s shoulder – he couldn’t help but notice the obvious muscular definition there from having to support his bodyweight on the chromed pole of the stage. He crossed his legs, hoping no one would take note of his current… impropriety.   
  
Oswald leaned in so his face was two inches away from Edward’s, his porcelain complexion flushed a delicate pink, long dark lashes fluttering against freckled cheeks, a wicked smile on his lips.   
  
_ “Did you want me to whisper sweet nothings in your ear?” _   
  
Edward gulped, his mouth dry. His heart was pounding in his chest. Sweat beaded on his forehead. _“Hardly.”_   
  
_ “Or, since you’re so bent on me being your teacher, I can show you  _ exactly _ how I parted so many of Gotham’s elite from their hard-earned money. How I convinced them to give me their deepest and darkest secrets to sell.” _   
  
Edward knew this wasn’t real, that the real Oswald Cobblepot was at the bottom of Gotham Bay – but oh, how this felt real. The feel of Oswald’s hands on his chest, his hot breath in his ear. Delicate white fingers brushing through his hair, the smell of cologne and sweat and pheromones.   
  
His bright blue-green eyes, carefully lined with kohl, almost seemed to glow with a malign intensity as he ground his hips against Edward’s – slowly, as if they were underwater. The sequins on his shorts caught the light as his hips swayed and rolled in time with the music, adding to the hypnotizing effect. Oswald’s lips were so pouty and soft, parted wantonly as he threw his head back, exposing his long white neck. Edward’s mind was, more than ever, a roiling storm of conflicting thoughts pounding through his brain. His eyes went fuzzy, unfocused. He needed to break the spell the drugs had on him, fast.   
  
_“Enough of this!”_ Edward commanded. This wasn’t Oswald; this was a grotesque parody of his friend, as repellent in its own way as the pitiful creature who had once shown up at his doorstep covered in feathers and preaching the virtues of kindness. Oswald would have never been this smouldering, this blatantly sexual; Oswald had been so shy, so gentle and patient with him. He remembered how his friend’s voice would go soft around him, how his face would light up when he entered the room, the open embraces and soft kisses pressed against his shoulder. This Oswald was almost… _predatory_.   
  
The hallucination stopped his grinding and blinked, as if in surprise. _“You don’t want this?”_   
  
“I told you, I don’t want you,” Edward growled. “I never wanted you.”   
  
Oswald pointedly lowered his gaze and raised a ruthlessly shaped eyebrow. _“I don’t think certain parts of you are in agreement with that.”_   
  
Edward’s face flushed red, his heart hammering against his ribcage. True enough, he was rock hard, the evidence of his arousal plain to see in those tight green trousers. Already, small drops of lubrication stained the gaudy fabric from the inside.   
  
_“Go on,”_ Oswald said. _“Take care of it. You know you want to.”_   
  
Glassy-eyed and breathing heavily, Edward shamelessly started to palm himself over his clothing, biting his lips to stifle any noise. The drugs had removed all sense of inhibition.   
  
_“Look at you, touching yourself in the middle of a strip club, to a dead man at that,”_ Oswald hissed. _“Have you no shame?”_   
  
By now, Edward was too lost in his drug-fueled fantasy to care whether he did or not. Not even bothering to be discreet, he reached inside his waistband to pump himself faster. His breathing quickened through gritted teeth, his skin feeling tight and hot. “Says the man wearing sequin booty shorts.”   
  
_“You’re a sick man, Edward,”_ the hallucination sneered. _“But the Penguin saw who you really were underneath, didn’t he, Edward? He was the only one in your pitiful existence who ever looked past the jittery nerd and saw what was beneath. He_ knew _you, Edward, and he loved what he knew.”_   
  
Edward groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and bucking his hips as he imagined shutting Oswald’s smart mouth up by filling it with his cock. His body flooded with warmth, his fair skin flushing pink as his heart raced well beyond an unhealthy range.   
  
__ “If it wasn’t for Penguin, you’d still be rotting away in Arkham. It was the Penguin who plucked you out of the gutter and gave you a position befitting your abilities, and you threw it all away. Like everything else in your life. Even Kristen. Go ahead. Tell me I'm wrong.”   
  
Instead, Edward came with a strangled cry, not even noticing the looks of disgust on the faces of Barbara, Tabitha, and the others. The last thing he heard was his dead friend’s mocking laughter, and then he passed out, eyes rolling into the back of his head.   
  
***   
  
When Edward woke up, alone again, with the worst hangover of his life and a pair of ruined pants, and completely unable to look Barbara and Tabitha in the eye, he swore for the thousandth time he’d throw out the pills. He couldn’t go on like this. He needed a proper guide on this crazy journey of his. Sooner rather than later.


End file.
